


Still the Warmth Flows Through Me

by Molias



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Bottom Hank, Fingering, Intercrural Sex, M/M, Massage, Prostate Massage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-11
Updated: 2019-02-11
Packaged: 2019-10-26 03:42:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17738348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Molias/pseuds/Molias
Summary: When Hank's back pain progresses from "mild annoyance" to "actively & intensely painful," Connor wants to help by giving him a massage, but his methods are a lot more thorough than Hank expects.





	Still the Warmth Flows Through Me

**Author's Note:**

> As a heads-up: there isn't an explicit discussion of sexual consent before things get started although everything sexual that happens is consensual. This all takes place in the framework of an established relationship where Hank and Connor have talked about how they feel about initiating sexual activity without talking a lot about it beforehand, are used to each other's nonverbal cues, etc.

Hank was so used to being sore that he barely ever thought about it; it was just the way things were. He'd always tended to carry stress in his neck and shoulders, his hamstrings were tight, and once he hit forty his knees started to feel creaky as well. He hunched over when he sat, slept on the couch too often with his neck at a weird angle, and certainly didn't stretch at all; once the pain started, it was there to stay. He wasn't crazy about any of it, sure, but he never seemed to have enough energy or self-worth to focus on taking care of himself better, so the dull aches and pains persisted. He could drown them out with alcohol sometimes; that was never his main reason for drinking, but it was nice to feel loose and warm instead of tight and sore from time to time. Hank figured this was just part of aging, part of being a lazy asshole who didn't take care of himself. 

He didn't figure Connor's presence would change things at all, but he'd thought that about a lot of things, hadn't he? And a lot _had_ changed.

"Jesus Fucking Christ," Hank grumbled, as he rolled out of bed. Something had gone horribly wrong with his back overnight, and there was a sharp pain radiating across his lower back through to his right hip. He pressed his hand to the base of his spine and stood up straight with effort, wincing as he stumbled into the bathroom to see if a scalding hot shower could soothe things any. Connor tried to follow after him with a look of concern, but Hank waved him off; it didn't feel like anything more important than his standard shitty back pain acting up a bit more than usual, and he felt a bit self-conscious having Connor fuss over him too much. 

A hot shower did help, as did the couple painkillers he tossed back with his coffee, but he was still in a good bit of pain throughout the morning, enough that Connor noticed. 

"Hank, you look like you've been in distress all day," Connor said in the early afternoon. Hank had been sitting in the same uncomfortable chair for three hours, cross-referencing old case notes and evidence records after wrapping up a witness interview, and he hissed with pain as he stood, momentarily unable to straighten up entirely. 

"Eh, it's not a big deal," Hank said, as he winced and stretched, but he could tell Connor wasn't convinced. "I just slept funny, that's all. My fucking back's killing me right now, but it'll sort itself out eventually." 

Connor rested a hand on the small of Hank's back and pressed gently. Hank could feel a soft warmth radiating from his hand; was Connor able to change his heat output? He sighed—not a moan, he definitely _did not_ moan—as the heat and gentle pressure soothed the pain just a bit. 

"Connor, you don't gotta do that," Hank mumbled. 

Connor hummed thoughtfully. "It would be easy for me to download some basic massage protocols, if you'd like me to do this properly at home. Therapeutic massage can significantly reduce the sort of acute pain you're experiencing, and it will likely alleviate the other back pain you frequently complain about." 

Hank grimaced. "Aw, Connor, I'll be all right," he said. "I have a heating pad somewhere in a closet and I'll just sit with it tonight, you don't need to make a big fuss about it." 

"I _want_ to make a fuss about it, Hank," Connor said, and Hank could hear frustration creeping into his voice. "You're in pain, and I can help. What do you gain from pretending it doesn't bother you?"

"I don't know, not feeling like a creaky old man?" Hank knew he was being ridiculous, but couldn't let go of his stubbornness. He was too used to fending for himself, which lately had just meant ignoring every problem he had for as long as possible. It wasn't the _best_ plan, he knew, but he'd grown accustomed to it.

"Hank." Connor's fingers dug more harshly into his back, forcing out a surprised grunt. "The way to feel _less_ creaky is to let me help you." He patted Hank's shoulder and collected some of the documents spread haphazardly over the table, straightening the rest into a pile precisely four inches from the corner. "Think about it at least. I'm going to go file these and check with Evidence to make sure we didn't miss anything." Connor breezed out of the interview room and back up the stairs before Hank could formulate a reply, leaving him still sore and cranky. Fuck.

As the day went on and Hank's back continued to feel like someone had taken a baseball bat to it, his reluctance to have Connor test out whatever sort of massage skills he could download started to fade. He knew he had no good reason to say no, but even though life with Connor had chipped away at some of his more stubborn habits, it still felt easier to aggressively ignore his pain than to accept help. _Fat lot of good that's doing me now_ , he thought to himself, as another bolt of pain lanced through his hip when he bent down to unhook Sumo's leash after his evening walk. _I need to stop being so goddamn stubborn._

"You can go ahead and download a massage textbook, or whatever, if you still want to," Hank said to Connor that night in bed, after he'd turned off the lights. "You're right that it doesn't help to pretend the pain isn't there. Sorry I blew you off earlier when you were trying to be helpful." 

"Apology accepted," Connor said, tracing patterns over Hank's chest with his fingers. "I'll download and analyze the information tonight, and tomorrow I can pick up any supplies we'll need."

Hank mumbled something vaguely affirmative and pulled Connor against his chest as he drifted off. He was still sore, of course, but having Connor in his arms and hearing the faint pulse of his biocomponents was comforting enough that sleep found him easily all the same. 

 

The next afternoon, Connor went on a brief shopping trip and shooed Hank out of the bedroom while he set up. When Hank was allowed in, he saw a bottle of what looked like fancy massage oil on the bedside table, along with a large candle that was giving off a clean, herbal scent he couldn't quite identify. Lavender? Eucalyptus? It _did_ smell nice, whatever it was. 

In the absence of a proper table (he'd tried and failed to get Hank to agree to the purchase of one), Connor had arranged things on one edge of the bed; there was an old sheet spread out to protect the bedclothes from massage oil, a donut-shaped pillow so Hank could breathe easily while lying face-down, and a small pillow to go under his hips, apparently to help with the angle of his back during the massage. Connor was unusually businesslike while asking Hank to disrobe and settling him on the bed, which was a bit of a surprise; usually if Hank was naked, Connor couldn't keep his hands off him. Hank supposed he was just getting into the right frame of mind for the massage instead of thinking about getting a handful of his ass the way he usually was.

"Now," Connor said, once he was satisfied with how Hank had situated himself on the bed, "if you need more or less pressure, just say so, and if anything I do is painful or makes you uncomfortable, tell me to stop and I'll stop immediately. Ok?" 

"It's just a massage, Connor," Hank mumbled into the pillow, "Why are you acting like I need a fucking safeword?" 

"It's only a precaution. The process of working out tight spots in the body can sometimes be painful before it can be relaxing, and I want you to feel comfortable." Connor smoothed his hands over Hank's broad shoulders. "Would you like me to warm up my hands again? You seemed to like that when I did it before." 

"Sure, knock yourself out." 

"Your lower back is what's hurting the most right now, correct?" 

"Yeah, the worst of it runs through to here," Hank said, prodding a spot on his hip. "To be honest, though, I'm generally sore all over, I've just gotten good at ignoring it."

Connor made a disapproving noise, and Hank could imagine the look on his face, one of the many "You're being ridiculous and stubborn but I'm too polite to tell you directly" expressions he loved to shoot Hank's way. "Hank, ignoring something that's causing you pain is likely to just make the problem worse." 

"Jesus, I know," Hank replied, "but it never feels important enough to do anything about it. You're here now, though, and apparently determined to be Mr. Massage Therapist, so maybe you can help me out a little." He wiggled just a little, flexing his shoulders under Connor's hands. "Want to get started?"

Connor poured some massage oil into his cupped hand and waited a moment for it to warm up. "I'll start with your neck and shoulders, and work my way down to the problem area in your lower back." His tone was slightly cooler and more stilted, more like he'd sounded when Hank had first met him. Was this part of the massage protocol he'd downloaded? 

"Hey, Connor, you aren't like...importing someone else's personality along with these massage instructions, are you? I don't really know how that works."

"It's still me, Hank," Connor replied drily. "I learned a new skill, I didn't become possessed." 

Hank rolled his eyes, even though he knew Connor couldn't see. "Ok, smartass, I get it. I just wondered if youuu _urrgh_...." Hank trailed off into a groan of pleasure as Connor's warm, oiled hands made contact with his back and slid up to dig under his shoulderblades.

"That's right, just relax and let me help you feel better," Connor murmured, as he worked, and Hank couldn't think of any reason to disobey. How long had it been since someone had touched him like this? 

After several minutes of quietly working over Hank's shoulders, Connor spoke up again. "How's everything feeling so far, Hank? Do I need to adjust my pressure levels at all?" 

"No, 's fine. Feels good." It was fucking fantastic, actually, but Hank was relaxed enough that more profound comments were hard to dredge up. He was pretty sure he'd had a massage before, but it would have been decades ago, most likely a luxury he indulged in once in his 20s, and not something he had a concrete memory of; as far as he was concerned, this was an incredible novelty. He and Connor touched all the time, of course; Connor loved physical affection and Hank was happy to indulge him, but it was entirely different to feel Connor's focus narrowed down to the point of an elbow digging into a knot in Hank's back, or the firm sweep of a hand along his spine. 

Hank's relaxation didn't last long once Connor made his way down his spine, coaxing out an alarming number of cracks and pops as he did so, and began to work on his lower back in earnest. He inhaled sharply as Connor pressed in with the heel of his hand, and felt the pressure ease immediately. 

"All you all right? I'm sorry, this might be unpleasant at first." 

"I'm ok, it just surprised me is all. You don't need to go easy on me, I know it's gonna suck for a bit." He tensed up when Connor returned to the tender area, but Connor rubbed soothing circles against his skin while his other hand dug into the knot.

"Try not to hold tension in your muscles while I'm working in this area, Hank. Breathe into the pain and relax as much as you can, and if it's too much, just let me know."

"Sure," Hank said, and focused on his breathing. It was hard; his initial instinct when hit with pain was to hold his breath, but with some effort he was able to keep his breathing slow and deep, which helped more than he expected. Connor bent Hank's right leg and dug his fingers into his hip in a way that was exquisitely painful for about ten seconds before the sensation faded to a dull throb. He let out a faint moan in relief. 

"How's that?" Connor murmured. He straightened Hank's leg and pressed his fingers in again, more firmly this time. It caused a deep ache in his hip, but he could feel the muscles relaxing under Connor's touch, his screaming nerves quieting down to a mild grumble.

"Yeah," Hank managed, eventually, and thankfully Connor didn't seem to expect anything more eloquent than that. 

Gradually, the pressure eased up a bit; Connor's strokes were still firm, but the deepest ache behind them was gone. He worked at Hank's back for a bit more, easing out the last bits of tension, and then re-oiled his hands and moved down to the backs of Hank's thighs. 

After the agony of Connor working on his lower back, even the mild soreness of having his tight hamstrings loosened up felt good. Connor worked his way down Hank's legs with smooth, firm strokes, and Hank felt himself slipping into the same hazy, relaxed state he'd been in at the beginning of the massage. By the time Connor's strong fingers were pressing into the arch of his foot, Hank was so relaxed he was half-afraid he'd fall asleep. "This is really nice, Connor," he mumbled drowsily. "No one's ever done this for me." 

Connor made a small, pleased sound and set down Hank's foot, sliding his hands to his thick calves and massaging a bit more gently than before. "I'd be happy to do this more often, if you'd like," he said. "I enjoy being able to take care of you like this, and I'm invested in your continued health and well-being. We aren't done yet, though."

Hank was all right with that; if Connor wanted to keep going, he wouldn't kick up a fuss. As Connor worked his way back up his legs, all Hank could think about was how _good_ it felt to have his hands on him like this. His cock twitched as Connor pressed his thumbs into the very top of his thigh, right where the hamstring met the gluteus muscle, and he couldn't help but let out a low, soft moan. Connor was handsy as a rule, so it wasn't like he didn't have a set of friendly hands all over his ass on the regular, but the difference between a casual grope while making dinner and _this_ was the intensity of Connor's attention and the precision of his work; he seemed to know exactly how to make Hank feel as boneless as Sumo in the afternoon sun. 

Connor continued to focus his attention on Hank's ass and upper thighs, kneading more gently. He stepped away momentarily to re-oil his hands, and Hank sighed at the frictionless glide of Connor's fingers against his skin when he returned. Just as he became so relaxed his mind started to float off again, he felt the completely unexpected brush of Connor's finger against his entrance once, then again - not accidental, but deliberate. Purposeful.

"Wh—" Hank was too startled to say anything else as Connor's slick finger worked into him. A familiar feeling, but not at all what he expected. Connor hadn't given any indication that this was going to be the kind of massage that came with a happy ending.

"At your age," Connor said smoothly, before Hank could formulate a more coherent question, "it's very important to consider the health of your prostate." He rubbed his fingertip gently over the area in question, shocking a surprised breath out of Hank as his mind struggled to catch up with what was happening. 

"Some medical professionals encourage regular prostate massage, although others argue that it hasn't been proven to provide any benefit to otherwise healthy individuals," Connor continued. "However, the potential benefits are such that it seems silly not to provide this treatment as well." 

Connor only lightly pressed against Hank's prostate, just enough to tease, before pulling his finger back again. Hank tried to lift his hips, to press back and work himself farther onto Connor's finger, but Connor's other hand settled firmly onto Hank's lower back, holding him in place. _Fuck_ , Connor was strong. Hank knew it, of course, but it was moments like this that really drove the fact home; he was being held down by one slender hand, completely at Connor's mercy. He could feel the prickle of a hot flush working its way over his face and down his chest at the thought of it.

"Connor, _please_ ," Hank moaned. He couldn't get any leverage pinned down like he was, but he squirmed just a bit anyway, to show Connor how much he wanted it. 

"Please what, Hank?" Connor said, sounding no more excited than he did when doing a crossword puzzle or washing the dishes. 

How was it that Connor was able to be so calm? Usually, Connor was much less collected than this when fingering him; Hank had seen him come just from having his fingers inside him a couple times at least. Had Connor messed with the sensitivity of the sensors on his hands somehow? Either that, or he was exerting an impressive amount of self-control. Hank certainly wasn't feeling as calm as Connor seemed to be.

Drastic measures were needed. Hank was sometimes reluctant to directly ask for what he wanted, but he figured doing so might get Connor there a bit quicker. "Stop teasing and fuck me," Hank growled. 

"Lieutenant," Connor said sharply. "I'm acting as your massage therapist, and as such it would be extremely unprofessional for me to engage in sexual activities with a patient." 

Ah, so that's how it was going to be. Connor loved to call Hank _Lieutenant_ when he wanted to be a bossy little shit in bed, and Hank...well. Hank loved it too, although he wasn't always willing to admit just _how_ much he loved it. 

"Wouldn't want you to feel unprofessional, sure," Hank said, failing to keep his voice from shaking as Connor slid his finger out entirely and pressed it gently against his entrance, teasing him. "That why you turned your manual sensors down? You did do that, didn't you?" 

"As I said," Connor replied calmly, while sliding a second finger in alongside the first, "sexual activity with a patient is inappropriate; it's only fair that I dial down my sensitivity so I am not distracted during the treatment." 

Hank pressed up against the solid, comforting weight of Connor's hand on the small of his back as his fingers returned to his prostate, pressing more firmly now. "Not distracted, huh. This— _ah, Christ_ —this isn't distracting you at all? Working me open like this? Making me ask for more?" He was going to continue, but his words trailed off into a heavy exhale and a whine as the pressure from both of Connor's hands increased. It was as if Connor was sparking off an electrical pulse deep inside him (Hank felt a pulse of arousal at the thought of _that_ , perhaps something to ask about later), and he figured it might be best to let himself sink into that feeling instead of trying to wind Connor up about it, no matter how enjoyable that might be. 

"You know how focused I can be when the situation calls for it, Lieutenant," Connor said. "I'm not worried about any issues with my performance." His fingers moved in small circles, relentlessly stroking over Hank's prostate. "However, if you feel my attention drifting, or have issues with your treatment, I'd be happy to discuss any concerns you have." 

In a last effort to see if he could entice Connor to pick up the pace from this slow assault, Hank arched his back as much as he could with the immovable weight of Connor's hand pressing down on him and _clenched_ around Connor's fingers, a move that usually had Connor whining and overheating in no time flat. 

Connor ignored this completely; his only reaction was to lean a bit more of his weight onto the small of Hank's back, restricting his movement further. He couldn't even get the leverage to rut his cock, now desperately hard, against the pillow propping him up; Connor was in complete control. 

Hank knew that Connor could do whatever he wanted to him, for as long as he wanted, without getting distracted or overstimulated, and this filled him with equal parts lust and dread. _He is gonna destroy me_ , Hank thought idly. His cock pulsed at the thought and while he wanted to get his hands on it, wanted Connor to let him touch himself, to fuck him in earnest, _anything_ , he knew he was in for a long ride before any relief would come.

"Now," Connor said, "some patients find that orgasm is a side effect of this treatment; while that isn't the intended purpose, there's no shame in it if this happens to you." 

He took a moment to re-oil his fingers, slipping them back in smoothly before setting a slow, methodical pace, pressing with a bit more pressure every time his fingers rubbed over Hank's prostate.

It was overwhelming. "God, it's too much, Connor, it's-" 

Connor lessened the pressure but did not stop. "Are you asking me to stop, Hank?"

"No, no," Hank moaned, "I. I can take it." 

"You know what to say if you need to stop, right?" Connor waited for Hank's response. 

"Yeah. Keep going." 

So Connor did, fucking his fingers into Hank at a faster pace now, stroking over his prostate again and again. Hank tried to rock into the pillow beneath him, but Connor's firm hand held him in place. It seemed impossible that he could come like this, with no direct contact to his cock at all, but it also seemed impossible that he _wouldn't_ , given the intensity of the sensation. 

"You're doing well, Lieutenant," Connor said, and while he still sounded mostly unaffected, there was the slightest hint of desire in his voice. 

Hank felt like the wind was being knocked out of him, like he was licking a battery, like...his brain gave up on trying to understand what he was feeling and whited out into pure sensation. His orgasm, when it came, felt almost pulled out of him, like Connor had used his perfect fucking fingers to coax and push and force it into being. He came with a shout and a sob of relief, and almost immediately felt the emptiness of Connor's fingers pulling out of his body as he was rolled over and Connor slid behind him, wrapping his arms around him. 

"Jesus Christ, Connor," Hank managed, after a minute of panting silently and trying to regain his bearings. "Where did that come from?" 

"I'm sorry if that was too much, I—" 

"Hey, hey," Hank said, lacing his fingers with Connor's and pulling him more closely against his back. "I didn't say that at all. That was fucking fantastic, I just didn't see it coming." 

Connor squeezed Hank's hand. "I didn't either, to tell the truth. My plan was to give you a massage, nothing beyond that. But seeing you laid out on the bed like that, getting to touch you all over and hearing the sounds you made, I wanted to hear you make more." He was silent for a moment, pondering his next words. "But I also wanted to stay in control, of the situation and of myself."

"By the _situation_ ," Hank said, "you mean me, right?" 

"Partially, yes," Connor admitted. "You know I enjoy that, sometimes." 

"So do I," Hank mumbled, after a moment, and even though he was still flushed from sex he could feel his face heat up again. Just because it was true didn't mean it was easy to talk about. 

"I know that, too," Connor said. 

Hank rubbed his thumb over Connor's knuckles. "You turn your sensors back on yet?" 

"You're a smart man, _Lieutenant_ ," Connor replied. "Surely you can put your investigative skills to use?" 

Hank sucked Connor's thumb into his mouth and was rewarded with a sweet, soft moan. "Hmm, seems like it," he said, and as he licked a wet stripe up Connor's palm and middle finger he felt Connor shudder behind him. "You have a lot of built up tension to work out after that, don't you?" he asked, trying to keep his voice as calm as Connor had during the massage but only partially succeeding. 

"I—ahh! I might," Connor gasped, as Hank continued to lavish attention on his fingers. He bucked against Hank's ass and Hank could feel the swell of Connor's erection pressing against him. 

"Hank," Connor said, "Your thighs...can I?" At Hank's grunt of assent, he took his hand out of Hank's mouth just long enough to wiggle his boxers down before sliding his dick between Hank's thighs, still slick with oil. 

Hank reached back and recaptured Connor's hand, kissing and sucking his fingers as he thrust against him. Usually when he did this, Connor couldn't shut up about how much he loved Hank's thick thighs, but he was clearly distracted now; it was as if all the stimulation Connor hadn't allowed himself to experience earlier was hitting him at once. Hell, maybe it was; for all Hank knew, Connor had been storing his asshole data somewhere and was re-examining it now that all his sensors were back online. 

Whatever the reason, Connor was clearly close to the edge. After a few minutes, as Hank was spreading Connor's middle and ring fingers with his tongue to lick in between them, Connor let out a strangled cry and then bit Hank's shoulder as he came. 

"I'm gonna have a bruise there, aren't I?" Hank murmured, a minute later. "I thought the entire point of this exercise was for me to hurt _less_ , not more." He rolled over to face Connor and pulled him in for a lingering kiss. 

"Yes, but you like those," Connor replied. "You'll appreciate it when I touch your shoulder later and you can still feel it." 

"True," Hank said. "Hey, you know what else is good for sore muscles? A nice hot shower, and we both need to get cleaned up anyway. You wanna join me?" 

"Always," Conor said. "And Hank, thank you." 

"What the hell are you thanking me for, Connor?" Hank asked, as he lumbered into the bathroom and got the shower running. He stretched experimentally, and was impressed to find that the lingering pain in his back had mostly dissipated. "You're the one who just fixed my fuckin' back with your magic fingers." 

"Thank you for letting me take care of you," Connor said. "I know you don't always appreciate having other people do things on your behalf, but it brings me a lot of pleasure to find ways to help you." 

"Yeah, well," Hank grumbled, as he stepped into the steaming shower and pulled Connor in with him. "It's easier, when it's you. You make a lot of things easier." 

**Author's Note:**

> I did finally make a fandom twitter so if y'all want to yell HANK BIG and have me give the traditional reply AND HANK ALSO BIG WITH YOU, come say hello @robofingering!  
> Also: thanks to @ranchdechloe & @usb_blasting for the initial massage convo on twitter that gave me the seeds of this fic. <3


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